Scottish Quilts and Russian Lullabyes
by mustard-squid
Summary: This is a High School AU, with Abusive!John. Anyway, Amelia Whalen (I may switch the 'a' and 'e' on accident) moves to America from Scotland, and guess who's dating her next-door neighbor, Lisa? After a while, turns out Dean-o needs a tutor, and guess who's the only one who volunteers? No Sammy, Cas, or Gabe, sorry guys. I suck at summaries, enjoy! Dean/OC
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my new High School AU. Thanks for reading, and pleaseee be my friend and review ideas, etc. Thanks. Sammy, Cas, and Gabe really aren't in here, sorry. Also, those who live in America, I do too. So don't get mad at me.**

* * *

Amelia Whalen was pretty pissed at the prospect of moving to America. They were perfectly okay in Scotland, but her mother had remarried an American man. Who wanted to live in America, probably where all his little _American_ drinking buddies were. Amelia, who preferred to be called Amy, thank you very much, was 17, and was just about to start what the _Americans_ called junior year.

Okay, so she was being a bit of a drama queen. Who could blame her? They were uprooting a less-than-pleased teenager from her home and moving to a country where everyone was apparently fat and had the newest models of phones even though their children were starving. Amy looked around her now empty bedroom, and held up her camera. _Click._ The only way she'd really got along with Ted, her step-dad, was that he bought her all of the photography supplies she needed.

"Amelia!" Great. She had to leave. She plucked a Sharpie from her carry-on bag and scribbled something on the floor, in her favorite corner where her bookshelf was.

_Amelia Whalen-2014_

Satisfied, she stood up, and turned straight into Ted. As always, his nose crinkled in disgust at her hair. _Her goddamn hair._ Well, sure, she had dyed it a bright royal blue and kept it that way, but it was her goddamn hair. "We're leaving."

"Yeah, I know." Amy retorted. As far as she was concerned, she wanted nowhere near him, and so moving to America was the last thing she ever wanted to do. And so, as an (albeit small) act of rebellion, she'd dyed her hair and kept her accent, even though her family dropped theirs weeks ago to "fit in". She followed her step-father out to the rental van, who would have all of their belongings at their new home. In _Kansas. _Of all the places in America, they had to live in Kansas.

Lawrence, to be exact. But who _cared_ about Lawrence? **(Again, I'm American too. She's just pissy.) **Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she sent a final text to all of her friends.

**Off to America! I'll visit you on holiday, don't worry.**

She had no idea if she'd visit them or not. Amy just hoped that her mother would allow her.

_Screw hope, _she thought. _It's never exactly helped _you_, has it?_

* * *

Dean Winchester was 110% done with just about everything. Life, included. Dad hadn't been home in a few days, pulling his disappearing act that he did too often. John Winchester wasn't exactly the best man, but he provided a place to live, and, hell, that was good enough for Dean. Sammy was with friends, so Dean had a good two hours to himself. Hey, he loved his kid brother, but being just about a parent for him most of the time got annoying after a while.

Swiping a beer from the small fridge, Dean popped it open. Hell, he deserved it, and he was only about a month and a half away from turning 18. **(Sorry, I'm botching birthdays here. Just roll with it.) **Yet, since his birthday was _just _after the cutoff, he was stuck with the juniors instead of seniors. He really didn't mind, as half of the senior girls looked like shit.

Knocking back half the bottle, Dean stretched his legs out on the worn couch. He hummed as the alcohol swirled through his insides. Closing his eyes, he thought he wouldn't mind if he could just waste the day away, even though Sammy would be home soon. Dean's crap excuse for a phone plinked, alerting him that he had a text message. He ignored it, but found it annoying as the phone kept plinking.

_Plink._

_Plink._

Finally picking up the phone, he checked the messages.

_**Dean.**_

_**Deeeean.**_

_**DEAN.**_

_**Fine.**_

_**We're getting a new girl.**_

_**Maybe.**_

_**She's moving next door to me. I can see the trucks.**_

_**DEAAN.**_

Lisa, his girlfriend. Maybe. They'd started dating at the end of last year, and all through the summer, but Dean wasn't really attached to her. He wasn't attached to any of the girlfriends he ever had, to be honest. He was more known for his one-night stands, so Lisa was one of few (really, one of two) serious girlfriends. He texted back.

**Who?**

_**I don't know! Why don't you come over and find out?**_

**Gotta be here for Sammy.**_  
_

_**Sam will be fine. He has a key. Come over!**_

**Be there in 5.**

He stood, grabbing his car keys and worn leather jacket, only stopping to scrawl a note for Sammy.**  
**

**At Lisa's. Eat. -Dean**

He listened to his favorite sound in the world, the sound of the Impala's engine turning over. Dean followed the familiar route to Lisa's in silence, as he'd usually have music playing. Pulling into her driveway, he sat in the car for a few seconds watching the new family unload boxes from one of two moving trucks. There was the usual mother and father, a pair of kids who looked to be six or seven, and a girl that was about be his age that looked nothing like the man or woman. Then Dean noticed the hair.

It was a bright blue, and curled down her back. The longest strands brushed the small of her back.

"Dean!" Lisa snapped him out of his short trance by placing a heated kiss on his earlobe. "Dean, baby, why don't you go help them. Find out a little, see where she ranks. Plus, your butt looks especially good when you're lifting."

Dean grinned. "Alright. I'll do it, ma'am." He got out of the car, stretching his legs a little bit. Meandering over to the girl, who seemed to be struggling with a particularly large box, he tapped on her shoulder.

* * *

Someone poked her shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart, might want to leave the men to do the heavy lifting." Amy craned her neck to see who it was, and it was someone who was roughly her age. A boy, who had a good five inches and 80 pounds on her, cracking those stupid testosterone-inspired jokes. "I've come from next door to be your knight in shining armor, princess, so you might want to let me have a go."

"You want a go?" Her Scottish accent got stronger the angrier she was. As if she didn't have a strong one already. The boy seemed a bit taken aback, so Amy continued. "Fine." He held his arms out, and she dropped the box into them. The boy almost doubled over and let out a small 'oof'. He still pretended to be unfazed by it, so Amy had to give him a bit of credit. "It goes in the attic. You'll see the stairs on the second floor. Ignore my family, they're quite boring."

She picked up another box and lead him into the house. Turning his head, the boy winked at someone standing in the lawn of the other house. Amy followed the path through their new house up to the attic, where a small set of stairs led to her new bedroom. Which was the attic. It was a fairly large room, with three walls and the fourth was short, but became slanted to form the point of the roof. The boy dropped the box onto the floor almost immediately, and Amy did the same.

He stuck out his hand. "Hi. I'm Dean Winchester. Your neighbor's my girlfriend, so we'll probably see a lot of each other." Dean had a cocky grin, like he figured he was handsome. Figured. From what Amy had seen, almost every average American boy did.

"Amelia Whalen. But you'll call me Amy." She replied, shaking it.

"Got it, sweetheart."

"All my furniture's up now, and since you oh-so-kindly offered, you can help me set it up. The walls are already painted."

Dean took a good, long look around the room. The slanted part was white, but everything else was a light grey. Giving up, he helped Amelia (he'd decided to call her that, it suited her features better) move a twin daybed (the whimsical, twisting metal frame painted white) underneath the biggest window on the slanted wall. The bed just barely short enough to be the height of the short wall to be flush against it. A large dresser went on the opposite wall of the bed, and a glass desk went on the wall opposite the door, under a window. Small nightstands that matched the dresser went on either side of the bed, and a bookshelf was placed next to the door.

Amelia started to unpack the heavy box Dean had carried up, and filled the small bookshelf with dozens of books, leaving one of the three shelves open. The bookshelf seemed to sag slightly under all the weight, its top shelf looking as empty as her room once had. Dean sat on the floor, watching her lug the mattress up the stairs to throw it on the bed.

"You could have helped, y'know,"

"Aw, I think you got it, honey."

"Would you quit with the pet names?" Ah, now he was finally riling something out of her. She grumbled to herself while putting away her clothes and putting the sheets on her bed. Unfolding the quilt she'd made with her grandmother, she put it on her bed. After a lot of small things were put away, she turned to Dean. "What are you even doing here? You carried one box up and moved some furniture around. I don't want you here!"

"Calm down, Amelia. My girlfriend sent me to snoop because she was curious. Okay? You're going to be a junior, right?" Amy nodded, a bit peeved at the use of her name. "Right. So, chill. I'm leaving. See you in school."

He stood up and left, stomping down two flights of stairs and over to the next house. Amy sighed and continued to unpack her belongings, regretting almost any life decision that could have summed up to _this_.

Sending a text to her cousin, who was in London starting university, she also sent a picture of her new room.

**Love the room, but help! Already a masochistic bastard decided to come over.**

The reply was almost instant.

_**The boys are flocking already, I see. Good luck! I'll be over for winter holiday.**_

**See you then.**

* * *

**Please tell me what you think, because Dean's gonna be a little shit for like half of this. Just saying.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! I'm not a very popular fanfic writer, I know, but please review? Ideas (for ANYTHING, really), inspirations, a bit of Scottish history (I'm only a little bit myself), constructive criticism, flames, ANYTHING. Please.**

* * *

**Skipping ahead to the first day of school...**

Dean pulled the Impala up to the front of the middle school, letting Sammy out. Dad was too busy to take his little brother-and by busy, he meant having a world-class hangover. Hey, at least he was home. Dean stretched, wincing as the skin around his bruise tugged.

Luckily, the middle school and the high school were right next to each other, so it was easy on the gas. After finding a decent spot, Dean was (slightly) prepared for the first day. The large doors were propped open, students streaming in. Dean quickly joined the crowd, looking for a few familiar faces. Lisa, for one, and his friends. It was futile, however, as they were most likely in their classes. A quick look at his schedule confirmed first hour as Mechanics. It was more of an extra option, going all year long, but it was his favorite. Also, an easy A.

He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, then quickly located a table in the back. He hoped no one bothered to be his benchmate. _Screw hope, _his mind pestered, _what's it done for you?_

Dean leaned back as far as he could, the front legs of the chair a good two inches above the ground. As Mr. Singer, the teacher, took attendance, Dean looked over his schedule.

_1\. Mechanics_

_2\. Algebra-HON_

_3\. ELA*-HON_

_4\. Spanish_

_5\. Geography_

_LUNCH_

_6\. Chemistry-HON_

_7\. U.S. History_

_SH- Mr. Singer (Mechanics)_

Honors classes? Dean hoped it was a fluke. He was pretty smart, yeah, but honors? He didn't think so. Then the bell rang, signaling for classes to start, and Dean was thrust full-on into the workings of an airplane engine.

* * *

Amelia was in super-grump mode. Most of the school was composed of idiots, and the rest were teachers. Her mother had nagged for the past week that she needed to make friends, but she had friends. Wasn't her fault she moved across the pond. So instead of being friendly, she shot glares to everyone who decided to make eye contact with her.

It was quite a lot of people too, because Amelia had decided to grace the school in her full, amazing glory. Which included her outfit: a T-shirt that had a Dalek on it (and the words, To Victory!), dark-wash shorts that reached mid-thigh and gray low-top Converse. To top it all off, her hair was down. So, she attracted stares. Whatever. She really didn't want to deal with anyone today, especially as it was a reminder her friends were having fun without her. In Scotland. She took a look at her schedule.

_1\. Orchestra_

_2\. Algebra-HON_

_3\. ELA-HON_

_4\. Spanish_

_5\. U.S. History_

_LUNCH_

_6\. Chemistry-HON_

_7\. Geography_

_SH-Mr. Singer_

At least she had Orchestra first. Amy was practically in love with the violin, and had (illegally) pulled some of the music Sherlock composed from the Internet. And played that, too. She was glad she was in mostly honors classes, and figured that it was for the smartest people. Which (not to brag) was her. For the most part. She had no clue how to change a spare tire, but she could bang out Fur Elise on the piano. **(Sorry the 'u' doesn't have the accent mark.) **But whatever.

Collapsing into a random seat, the Orchestra teacher entered the classroom.

* * *

Mechanics went all too quickly for Dean, and then it was time for Algebra. Math had never been his strong suit, but he trudged along, usually with the barely-passing grade of C. The teacher, Prof. Crowley**, who seemed a little too strict, had already put a seating chart on the board. The desks were divided into five rows, with six desks a row. Dean was surrounded by total strangers, on either side. Now he'd focus better, with no one to distract him.

Until distracting blue hair sat directly in front of him. And then she turned around. "How in the seven rings of hell did _you_ end up in here?" Amelia hissed.

"I could say the same about you, princess. And I could. But I'm not going to, because you're a smart little cookie, aren't you." She turned back around, some strands smacking him in the face. Dean found it a sort of blessing that Amelia was seated in front of him, instead of behind, because if he moved just to the left, he could see most of her desk.

"Now, students, I'm going to see if your asses are in your seats." The teacher had a vague English accent, as if it had faded from being in other places for too long. After going through almost every single kid, the professor called out, "Whelan?"

"Present," Amelia mumbled.

"Good. Winchester? Ah, a Winchester."

"Here." Class started without a hitch, mostly of Prof. Crowley covering what they learned last year. Dean didn't understand a single bit of it. After class was over, the professor pulled him aside.

"You've scraped along these past few years, Dean. But if your grade, in _my class, _dips below an 80, I am giving you a tutor. End of story."

"Yes, sir."

Dean meandered to his next class, Language Arts, because he never really cared for creative writing or grammar. He didn't really care for much, honestly. Again, there was a distracting blue head in front of him, and he seriously wondered if there was a higher power out to get him.

"You again? Christ, you're everywhere." Dean narrowed his eyes at the back of her head, simultaneously writing down the basic rules of grammar, as Ms. Masters called it. His chicken scratch earned a sort of glare from the teacher, because it wasn't really legible. It wasn't like he was focusing on it anyway, instead Dean's attention was drawn to counting every freckle on Amelia's otherwise creamy skin. She was seated sideways in her desk, her blue gaze on the teacher.

The next few classes blurred by, and then it was lunch. He brushed by the distracting blue head once more, plopping his books at the center of the table. When he turned, the normally confident blue head looked...lost. Standing up again, he took the slender wrist in his large hand.

"Come sit with us, sweetheart." He smirked as her face flushed a little at the pet name. He dragged her to the spot to his right, as Lisa took the seat directly across from him.

"Oh, Dean, you're so sweet! Inviting the new girl to sit with us, how nice," she simpered, while shooting Amy a look that said _stay away. _"Aren't you going to get anything to eat?"

"Not big of a lunch eater." Amy said softly. She looked a bit nervous and a bit sick, but it was her first day in American schools. Anyone would be nervous.

"Oh! You're Irish!" Lisa exclaimed.

"Close. I'm Scottish."

Lisa made a face. Picking at her lunch (which was brought from home, and looked really good), Lisa took Dean's and held it across the table, as if staking her claim. Dean looked a bit uncomfortable, and Amy knew he wasn't one for PDA.

"Hey, cutie." A girl with hair as red as Amy's was blue plunked next to her. "Come here often?"

"Charlie," Dean laughed, "Stop hitting on the new girl. Amelia, this is Charlie, the resident lesbian. Don't respond to any of her flirts, please."

Charlie grinned. Amelia stuck out her hand. "Amelia. Well, Amy. Um..."

"Oh. Scotland? I can tell you're not from this country. Here, write down your number. Not hitting on you, but we'll be friends." Nodding, Amy plucked a pen from her backpack. Holding it in her left hand precariously, she scribbled her cell number down on a napkin, only for it to be plucked out of her hands by Dean.

"I want it too."

* * *

***ELA=English Language Arts**

****I think Crowley would rather teach college...**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, Dean just got Amy's number. By the way, I'm not a huge fan of the drama thing where Person A rejects Person B so Person B attempts suicide and a bunch of drama happens, etc. Yeah, not very fond.**

**Also, to my dear friend Bellatrix-lestrangleyou, nice name.**

* * *

Amy crossed the parking lot, looked to her left, then regretted it. Dean and Lisa were all but doing the do on the hood of his car, and she quickly tried burning the image from her mind. They were making out pretty heavily, and Amy practically ran the three blocks home. Dropping her books on her desk a few hours later (she had to pick up groceries), her phone made whatever noise it made when she got a text.

**At Lisa's. Friends with pizza in the backyard. Join us? -D**

She was especially lucky for her bedroom. If she opened the big window above her bed, and crawled out, there was a small flat piece of roof before the roof peaked again. She stood on that piece, looking at the neighbor's yard. There was a large cluster of people. And by large, she meant full-blown party. Not just a bunch of friends with pizza. Amy figured the party would last well after dark, even though it was only about 5:30. However, it was getting later in the year, so the sun was getting lower in the sky. A lone person standing just in her backyard looked up on the roof and waved.

Her phone rang again.

**Is that you on the roof? Come have fun! Your first party as an American! -D**

Chuckling to herself, Amy re-entered her room.

_**Sorry. No. Don't do parties. -A**_

**You sure? Fun! -D**

_**I'm sure. -A**_

**Giving you 10 minutes to get your butt down here or I am collecting it myself. -D**

_**No. You've got a girlfriend, why don't you have fun with her? -A**_

Dean didn't reply, and from her window, Amy watched the figure on the lawn walk back towards the party. She flopped onto her bed, chucking her phone in the general direction of her desk. It hit the floor with a thunk. She grabbed a book that was left on her nightstand. The top shelf that had been left empty was now full of books from the local library. Eleven, or maybe twelve? Didn't matter. She'd gotten her library card, and she was pleased. She pulled on her pajamas while reading.

Shimmying the snowmen-patterned pajama pants up her hips, she dog-eared the book and set it on the floor. Amy pulled her favorite quilt up to her chin and closed her eyes. The loud music from next door made that impossible, however, and so she sat in the dark with the moonlight filtering through her windows.

* * *

**Jumping ahead to the middle of the semester...**

Dean spent a bit of time looking for Amy that day, mostly to rub that she missed another great party in her face. A bit. But he couldn't find her, and that distracting blue head was gone all week. The next Monday, there she was, with a cast on her wrist and bruises and cuts on her other arm and face.

"What happened?" He asked under his breath in study hall. They were bench mates, their table somewhere in the middle of the room.

"Oh. I got hit by a car. Don't worry, I'm fine. The asshat wasn't watching." There she was, Scottish accent and grumpy personality all wrapped up in a blue bundle.

"_What?_"

"A car. Weren't you paying attention?"

"I was. Still, you didn't bother to tell me?"

"Why should I? You're not my next of kin."

It was true. But Dean still felt obligated to know, as he was one of her two main connections in Lawrence. She scowled at him.

"Still. I should know."

Dean was feeling a little tense. He'd gotten a form that said he needed to find a tutor. He'd tried _so _hard, but he really couldn't grasp, well, anything. Dean knew he wasn't a smart kid. That's why all the money he worked for went to Sammy's college fund. But he wanted to at least get through high school with decent grades, should college ever come up.

They sat in silence for the remainder of study hall, Amy devouring yet another book. When the final bell rang, Dean stopped Amy from leaving.

"I need to talk to you. Five minutes." Amy obliged, sitting down again.

His face almost entirely red, Dean managed to get out that he needed a tutor. Amy sat in silence, and nodded her head when Dean asked if she'd tutor him. It was a relief. All of the teachers liked her enough, and she was passing without a problem. Dean then proposed starting that day. She was perfectly fine with it. Dean offered a ride to her house, it was the least he could do.

The duo climbed into the Impala, Amy banished to the back seat because he didn't want anyone other than Sammy or Lisa to sit up front.

* * *

Amy was in for a real treat. She had to tutor Dean Winchester, the insufferable bastard who was one of her only friends. Climbing the two flights of stairs to her room, she cursed the higher power who decided it would be fun for Dean to fail. When they were all seated and comfortable, books spread and the furnace cranking (it was way too cold for mid-October), thunder clapped and it started to pour.

"Should I do it like this?" Amelia dog-eared her page, and leaned over to look at Dean's equation.

"Yeah. Only you need to do the simplifying like this," She took a pencil and scribbled something onto it. Dean nodded like he understood. When he reached over to grab another cookie (Amy had made them the other day and felt generous), she saw a ring of bruises on his forearm. Chalking it up to football (he was on the school team, and therefore popular), she let it go.

"What are you humming?" Dean asked.

"An old Russian lullabye." Amy hadn't even realized that she was humming.

"I thought you were Scottish."

"I am, but I had to learn it when I took Russian classes a while ago. So I can speak basic Russian as well as English."

"Cool." After that, the rest of the session was spent in silence. About an hour later, Dean looked at the alarm clock. "I think I have to go."

"Right. Adios, Dean." Before Dean was out the door, though, he stopped.

"Hey, Amelia?" Her head snapped up. "Thanks."


End file.
